


Siren

by rip1009



Series: Requiem for a fool. His Dark Chronicles. [8]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rip1009/pseuds/rip1009
Summary: Set during Nicolas Sorbonne years. Waking up from a drunk stupor, reality meets Nicolas with all the pain he grew accustomed to.





	Siren

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came together while I was writing this little thing: https://monsieur-nicolas-de-lenfent.tumblr.com/post/177162007443/the-first-time-your-muse

His head hurts and the noises typical to an early morning greet him non too gently.

Nicolas had grew accustomed to the taste of bile in his mouth and the impending need to vomit last night's residue.

He might be late for an exam. He doesn't care. He doesn't care all together about anything. All he needs is the music. His songs. His misery. It inspires him. It feeds him. It nurtures him.

His body hurts and he tries to open his eyes. His body feels like lead. His limbs don't obey him. He tries to move but he feels something solid close to him. He freezes on the spot his mind trying desperately to remember the events of the previous night.

All seems drowned in a sea of wine and opium and whatever the fuck he took in between.

Nicolas remembers caresses. He remembers the men and women whispering around him. Some trying to run their fingers through his hair, complementing his beauty, his dark, hollow eyes, his dangerous gaze, his taunt body. He can still feel those hands snaking their way inside his shirt and trying to unlace his breeches. 

His heart beats faster as he tries to create as much space between his body and the body next to him.

How did he end up in this room? With whom? For what is pretty obvious from the stains on the sheet and the ache he feel deep inside him. The small movement he made brought a new wave of pain stinging his lower region. 

He has to get out of there but he's frozen. Glued to that bed, to those stained sheet, trembling. His whole body trembles and he can't stop it. 

His hands run through his hair, nails digging hard into the thin skin of his scalp, he could swear he feels the blood staining the fingernails. He doesn't care. He needs to get out.

The memories begin to stumble their way in his head, like a snake making its way to sting the poor, unsuspecting victim.

Nicolas recognizes the man next to him. It's one of the professors from Sorbonne. One of those well-traveled fellows who entertained the crowds with tales from the Far East, places he visited. He's smart, he's experienced and Nicolas begins to remember the taste of the man's mouth on his own. 

His stomach growls, churning and Nicolas still forces himself to get himself out of that fucking room.

He remembers being dragged from the opium rooms, his mind too hazy to think straight. He's pulled through the dark corridor, a steady pair of hands fumbling with his shirt and coat, he can feel those hands caressing his skin, nimble fingers grazing down his taunt abdomen and going further until they reach his growing erection.  

He's with a man and he feels embarrassed and wants to stop but a part of him tells him to stay put and take everything. Because he's wicked and he deserves this. He thinks he said something along the lines that they shouldn't do this. That's a sin. But Nicolas knows he will burn in Hell for his sins. This one is just another notch on his never-ending list and he should just take it and accept that he is a sinner and no amount of redemption could save him.

He moans and opens his mouth, his head hitting a wall and he feels a heavy tongue shoved down his throat. It's not a gentle kiss. It's dominant and violent and he wants more of it and he takes the bites along the way. He's pushed inside a room and everything spins around him and they keep kissing and biting and scratching. His whole body burns. His neck hurts and he feels that mouth closing again on the tendons of whatever the fuck turns this son of a bitch on. Sucking and biting on his skin and whispering filth along the way. Nicolas might had said something but he can't understand the words spoken. 

He finds himself maneuvered, his face hitting the pillow not so gently, his breeches pried from him and the crisp air cooling his sweating body. Those strong hands keep him down and those fingers begin to move inside him. There is pain and he wants to get up but he can't and that voice says to him again that he deserves this pain and humiliation. Something inside him is stroked and he can hear himself moan like one of the whores he had fucked downstairs. The pain and ecstasy continue and he knows there's a prick shoved inside his hole not too gently. It hurts like fuck and he honestly believes he had been split in half from the intensity of those rough pushes and pulls. There's semen and blood and it burns like hell and Nicolas takes it and takes it with wretched abandon. He deserves this and wants this and he presents his ass for the taking. He becomes a willing participant in this game of sweat, semen, blood and fucking. His back hurts, his ass hurts, his heart hurts but he doesn't care he fucks and he's fucked until he falls into a deep sleep, exhaustion finally claiming him and his partner.

Nicolas blinks as the memories had finally done the deed of recalling him the night before and the man with whom he had shared this tryst wakes up, his hand going straight for his calf and reaching for his prick, trying to stroke the limb to life.

Nicolas shoves that hand away and is finally unglued from that bed. Pulling his breeches on, he begins to peel his clothes back on, ignoring the naked man coming for him. 

His anger rises stronger than the self-loathing and he finds himself punching that man square in the face. His knuckles bleed but he had broken the nose of that asshole. He smirks and picks up his coat, letting the man mend himself on the floor.

Nicolas storms outside, anger enveloping him like a second skin. 

The bile and vomit finally make their way up and Nicolas wretches in behind that house, his stomach hurting and his throat in flames. He can't stop shaking.

He had brought this on his own but in a twisted way, he liked it.

He truly deserves Hell's fire and one day, he will get there. He will never see his mother in the after-life.

Everything goes black and his feet cave in. He tries to rise but he's too weak and too tired. He deserves this, he keeps whispering as numbness finally claims him.


End file.
